The Colours of Life
by Love the Brightest Star
Summary: My collection of random Harry Potter drabbles. 1- The tale of Sirius and his bike. 2- The story of a muggle girl bitten by a werewolf. 3 - When she doesn't get to fly the straight way, she takes the sneaky way. Ginny's first flying experience. 4- Despite a rule banning it, Hannah and Ginny slowly find themselves falling for each other.
1. The Bike

**A/N: So, here's another collection for you! This will contain all of my unrelated, random Harry Potter drabbles.**

 **In this drabble, I have tried to keep the facts true to canon, but there might be some points that are varied from the actual stuff (that I realised after I wrote this). Hope you don't mind. Oh, and please, please review!**

 **Disclaimer : I don't own Harry Potter.**

* * *

If there was any non-living object which Sirius loved almost as much as his own life, if not more, it was his motorbike. It was his freedom, his image of rebellion; it was the portrait of all that he enjoyed — freedom, muggle culture, flying, rule-breaking, recklessness, and speed to name a few. He was twenty when he bought himself that muggle contraption. It was one of the few things that had him spending money on himself just for the sake of indulgence, another one being his leather biking jacket.

Bikes had held his fascination ever since he was very young; the view of the young men zooming around the London roads in those powerful devices enchanted him to no end. He had once, at the age of five, quite foolishly, he later felt, asked why wizards never used motorbikes or anything like that. The question had elicited various response from his relatives — two hours of yelling from his mother, a day of being locked up in the basement by his father, a derisive laugh and a stinging hex from Bella, a scornful look from Cissy, and such. Only Uncle Alphard had been kind enough to explain that between apparition, floo network, portkeys and flying, any other mode of transport wasn't necessary for wizards. Sirius still did not understand, though; if there was a bus for wizards too as there were for muggles, then why not bikes?

His love for motorbikes only grew as he grew older, as the vehicle became a symbol of his sense of rebellion. The posters of the latest brands of motorcycles which he laboriously acquired and stuck on his bedroom walls with permanent sticking charms served the dual purpose of stoking the flames of his passion and annoying his mother to hell.

He finally achieved his dream in the year 1979. The bike was a true beauty; it was a Triumph Bonneville, largely black with bits of blue and silver here and there. He never got tired to cleaning it and oiling it and doing whatever possible to keep it in the finest possible shape. With its OHV vertical twin engine, 10" disk, 2-piston hydraulic caliper brakes and its massive frame, the bike was truly, as he called it, his 'baby'. The joy of roaming around London on it was quite incomparable.

The idea of making it fly was given by James. His best friend was delighted with the bike, although Lily wasn't quite charmed by 'that monster', which was the name she preferred to address it by. Once, while examining the vehicle, James happened to say, in passing:

"Imagine what would have happened if this thing flew, Padfoot! A motorbike, flying high above England! Won't everyone be stunned?"

That was the birth of the idea. Soon both were immersed in giving form to the dream. It wasn't easy, and took a good many night's work (the constant tinkering outside their door annoyed Lily to no end), but finally, it was done. They installed an invisibility booster to avoid detection; after all, a flying motorcycle isn't something even the half-blind can overlook. When it was all done, Sirius was speechless with awe and satisfaction.

If driving on the London streets was great; flying over the entirety of England was exquisite. The bike gave flying a new definition; Sirius had never felt so comfortable on a broom. He installed a sidecar after a while for James' benefit; the young man seemed to take offense at being offered the back seat.

In the tough and grim conditions of war, flying on his bike was his only release, his freedom, his means of letting go of his worries for the time being. He never tired of feeling the wind on his face and his hair in his eyes.

While the bike had been the companion of his joys all this time, it became the herald of sorrow on the thirty first of October, 1981. So broken was he by the loss of his best friends that he did not hesitate even for a second in giving away his beloved bike to Hagrid; he had failed his friends, he had failed them all; offering the bike so that Hagrid may reach his destination quicker along with Harry was the least he could do. And anyway, what more use was there of the thing when there was no one left alive to ride in the sidecar (he could still see James' laughing face as they zoomed away from the flabbergasted muggle police), when there was no joy left in his life to be relished in the open air and the high skies?

His life hardly took a better turn after that: and in the constant bitterness that engulfed him throughout, Sirius never asked anyone what became of his bike. Perhaps he had even forgotten about it. But he would have been glad to know that his beloved machine had made it through all this time, thanks to one Arthur Weasley, and helped his godson escape his death mere years after his own. Both he and his bike had lost themselves in trying to save Harry Potter.

* * *

 **So how was it? Reviewers get virtual love! ;)**


	2. How to Make a Monster

**Written for Hillstar's** **Lycanthrope B-Movie Contest.**

 **Prompts** **used: How to Make a Monster (story title) and Full Moon Massacre.**

 **Disclaimer: I'm not Rowling.**

* * *

Till the fifteenth of March, 1996, she has an ordinary life.

She is six, she lives in Houghton. She has a mum, a dad, a granny and John, who goes to Cambridge. They live in a thatched cottage which has rose bushes all round the picket fence, and honeysuckle over the windowsill of her bedroom, where butterflies flit through all day.

In the morning, she plays with Sammy (her tabby kitten) until Mrs Steil, her governess, comes to teach. When she grows up, she wants to go to Cambridge like John (she doesn't understand what the fuss is all about, but she wants to join just because she can't stand how smug and proud he looks when he comes home for the holidays). But the books he has are so fat and heavy, she doesn't know how she will manage them. For now, she is quite happy to play around in the swing that Daddy has hung from the branch of the giant oak tree in the backyard (he's such a darling) and eat Mummy's gingerbread cookies (Mmm) and tease John about it because he misses them out, and she loves every bit of her life.

That is her life, until that night, fifteenth of March.

Mummy and Daddy are out to visit Uncle Jack and Aunty Em, and are going to stay the night at their place. They have told her to be a good girl, and so she has been; she has had her dinner with Gran and helped her clean the dishes, and she has let Sammy out in the backyard for the night. The clock shows nine thirty, and she is so dreadfully sleepy, she tells Gran goodnight and climbs into her bed. It is a full moon night, and the moon is so round and white and bright. She loves it so much. And she stares at it as long as her eyes stay open.

She wakes from her peaceful slumber with a start, unsure what woke her up. The room is swathed in darkness, with a trickle of moonbeam entering through the open window. The clock on the wall shows two o' clock.

Then comes the sound which probably woke her up — a soft scuffling noise and the rustling of bushes, towards the backyard. She is curious; perhaps it's Sammy, poor little thing. She moves out of the room on tiptoes, and carefully unlatches the back door.

"Sammy?" she calls softly, wandering around. "Are you there?"

There is no answering mew, but the rustle in the bushes close to her intensifies.

"Sam?" she tries again, suddenly afraid and cold and feeling dreadfully alone. She should just go in. "You there, kitty?"

And then it happens. It happens so fast that she has no chance to back away. Something pounces at her from the bushes, something large and hairy and fierce. She has only time to utter a terrified scream before it has her on the ground.

She can feel it (hot), she can smell it (foul), she can hear it (panting and snarling and growling, and God, she is so frightened), its maw drips saliva on her. She screams and screams, but to no avail. Mum and Dad aren't here, and Gran is almost deaf, she won't hear. No one comes to her aid. The creature's claws tear through her dress, drawing a sticky liquid from her which causes her to hurt (and it hurts so much). And as she struggles and kicks, its jaws, its hungry, open jaws snap around her arm. And even as pain overtakes her, driving her mad, she slips away to darkness.

-o0o-

They find her in the morning, barely alive and mutilated almost beyond recognition. She is rushed to the hospital, where the doctors are puzzled at what hurt her.

She barely makes it through, but she does, and that's all matters to Mum and Dad and Gran and John (he skips his exams to see her, and he cries, God, John sobs like a child).

And once she returns home, she swears that she will never, ever step out of the house at night.

Things are normal for the while; she is so weak that she can hardly leave her bed, though. But Mum gives her her favourite cookies twice a day, and that kind of makes up for it. The scars hurt; they show no sign of fading in the slightest. The one on her arm, which was where the creature bit her is the most prominent, and she can never repress a shiver when her eyes fall on it. There's quite a stirring in the neighbourhood after the attack; some people even call for a 'wild dog hunt', as that was what everyone assume had attacked her, but all they end up killing are jack rabbits which they cook on spits.

Things are slowly getting normal. She is now able to skip around in the garden again, and even take her lessons. Which is why the next incident comes completely without warning.

It happens exactly a month from the attack. She knows it because it's full moon again. She had been ill a few days since; mum doesn't know what's wrong with her, but she feels weak and sickly and ill-tempered, and her body aches all over. The sun sets in the west as the evening draws in, and she retires to her room (the aching in her bones is almost unbearable now). She watches through the window as the orange hue fades from the sky to be replaced by inky blue-black, and how the stars appear slowly into view.

And it is with the moon rising that all hell breaks loose.

She knows something is wrong as she sees the bright disk appear in the sky, showering everything with its soft glow, and suddenly, oh so suddenly, she feels strange. It is as if the moon holds a pull over her soul; she can't tear her eyes from it, and she stares helplessly as it pulls something dark, something primal from within her depths. She can feel her body shifting, changing, and yet she can't stare away, and suddenly, there is this pain, all-consuming, burning, terrible, terrible pain which wracks through her very core, and she screams and screams, and God, it hurts, _hurts_ , hurts so much, andsomeonejuststopitstopitohGodhelp...

She screams and screams as her mind unravels, as her thoughts lose themselves to chaos, and her bones snap as they elongate, she can hear it, and her gaze shifts and changes colour, and her face distorts, fur grows, and it is no longer her... She can hear someone coming, and the door opens, and someone's inside the room, shouting something; but all she knows is that she is hungry and thirsty, and lusting for blood, and she must, she _needs_ to sink her teeth into that soft flesh in front of her, and... and...

... And the world is a haze of red.

-o0o-

She wakes up in the morning, light filtering through the windows onto her face. What happened last night? She can't remember. All that is there in her mind is a series of hazy, vague memories which make no sense to her. She tries to sit up, but hurts all over as soon as a muscle moves. Her groans echo across the silent room.

It occurs to her for the first time, then, that something is wrong. How she senses it she doesn't know herself, but she just knows, perhaps from the eerie silence and the stillness in the air, and as she painfully sits up, she sees that she is on the floor, and... and her hand is red, with what can't be, but what certainly is, blood. Automatically, her eyes, wide with alarm, scan the room. Everything is broken, and washed with red.

There are claw marks across the bloodied wallpaper. The chairs have limbs missing. The beautiful dining table has been broken into bits. And on the ground just two feet away from her, there is... there is a hand. A hand ripped from the body. A hand drenched in blood. A hand with Mum's wedding ring on one finger.

She can hear a shrill screaming somewhere in the house, and it unnerves her terribly, but it is only when she shuts her mouth that she realises that it was her making the noise. As much as she wants to close her eyes and fall asleep, and hope that it was all a bad dream, her eyes defy her and look around.

There are bodies on the floor, the floor which is bathed in red. Not really whole bodies, disfigured, ripped apart bodies. Shivering and trembling, half against her will, she staggers up and walks around.

The body closest to her is Mum. She can tell it by the flowery gown she wore last evening. But the daisies painted on the dress are hardly discernable, so swathed in crimson as they are. Mum's eyes are open, staring; her throat has been ripped through by claws; her hands and her right leg are gone.

It is a wonder she does not faint at the sight. She can't even scream; her horror is now past all sanity, and eyes wide, jaw hanging, she runs around the room like a person insane.

But Mum's body is perhaps the one which is the most intact. There is nothing of Dad left worth speaking — just scattered limbs covered in bloodied blue raiment, and strands of matted brown hair remaining on the crushed head that lies in a corner in a pool of dried blood. John is only recognisable by the intact bust; the rest is an indescribably sickening mess. And his eyes... his eyes scream just as his mouth does, in silent agony and horror. She doesn't recognise Granny; only a few clumps of long silver hair lie scattered in a bloodbath.

And even as she feels as if she is being sucked into a red, red vortex of endless horror and pain as she stares on at what, until last night, was her family, but now has been reduced to a scene more terrible than any horror movie made in history, she somehow senses her own hand at it. It has perhaps got something to do with the fact that whatever happened to her family happened last night, a night she has no memory of, and that she is standing unharmed on the ground, her bare feet and naked skin soaked in blood. Parts of her memory return in dim, hazy flashes — staring at the moon and feeling the horrible change, the elongation of her face into a snout and the dimming of her wits except the primal senses which became fuller and sharper than ever... and then she knows it, beyond doubt, that she is the culprit, not the victim. Somehow, she has become a monster, a monster which sees no sense, a monster which does not hesitate on turning upon its own people, a monster who lusts for blood, human blood. A monster with sharp claws and fangs, a monster who... who howls into the night at the full moon (for she suddenly remembers the howl issuing from deep within her, a tribute to the wicked full moon from her warped soul). The story that old Jaime Mackey used to tell round the Sunday bonfire, the one about werewolves, flashes in her head. And then she knows — she _is_ one now (even though it is impossible, for surely werewolves don't exist).

She is surprised that no one in the neighbourhood heard the happenings of the night. A look at the open window reveals that it is only dawn; the light filtering through is young and silver. People will come and go by the house within an hour. Why, the milkman might be here anytime now. They will find out about this.

She knows she must run. The innocence and ignorance of childhood has left her, just as all semblance of normalcy left her last night. She knows she must run. They will catch her and accuse her of murder, maybe, or something. She cannot be around.

Her eyes, wild, dart across the room like those of a hunted animal, looking for the best way to escape. She is a monster; she must go away. She is a danger to everyone around her. Werewolf or not, she is not the sweet, innocent girl she was days ago. And so she must run and hide, like all monsters do.

And so she does — she runs, mad in terror and sorrow and shame, without bothering to wipe the blood from off her or put on clothes (because even if the blood is wiped from her body someday, it will forever remain in her mind). She flees by the backyard, and slinks away in the shadows of the trees, unseen by all that have awakened.

No one knows what happened to the six year old girl who disappeared from the little cottage round the corner; indeed few even remember her, but for years, Houghton talks about the Full Moon Massacre, and wonder what might have been the menace that befell the beloved family, and destroyed them in such a gruesome way.

And on the full moon nights, a distant howling floats across the quiet air.


	3. High Flyer

"No! I want to have a go too! Give it to me, Fred!" the little redheaded girl shouted at her older brother. She was only six, looking very sweet and harmless in her little top and pyjama bottoms, but as they say, looks can be deceiving. Her expression told much more about her current state of mind — her cheeks were blotched with red, and the tips of her ears were the shade of her hair, a telltale sign of anger typical to her family.

"Won't!" Fred Weasley said stubbornly, and stuck out his tongue at the girl three years his junior, just for effect.

Ginny turned to the other boy, who was exactly identical to Fred. "Georgie, pleaaasse? Pretty please?"

"Nope," was the firm reply. If you take our brooms —"

"— which you are too young to use —" Fred continued. "—you will break them!" the two finished in unison.

That was the classic twin talk.

The girl glared at the two, and then her lower lip trembled, and she promptly burst into tears.

"Muuum!" she bawled.

"What is it, sweetie?" Molly Weasley stepped out into the backyard, her right hand covered in flour from her kitchen work.

"Freddie and Georgie won't let me use their brooms to fly!"

Mrs. Weasley smiled at her little daughter a little tiredly. "But Ginny, you are too young to fly."

"Am not!" came the stubborn reply. "I'm six! I am a big girl!"

"Good girls don't fly, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley sighed, and picked her up. "Now get inside like the nice little girl you are, won't you?"

Ginny frowned, but not daring to disobey her mother, trudged into the house.

-o0o-

The next morning was cool and quiet, and the Burrow was unexpectedly silent, devoid of the usual chatter and squabble of the Weasley children. Arthur had taken Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins to the Quidditch stadium to catch the match between Puddlemere United and the Tutshill Tornadoes. Only Ron and Ginny had been left behind with their mother, considered too young to go. Ginny had thrown a right fit at that, of course, but to no avail. The little Weasley girl now lay on her tummy in her little bed, her head bent low, listening to the commentary of the ongoing match in the WWN. She sighed as she heard the commentator yell excitedly as Puddlemere scored, wishing she could have gone. She stared at the poster of the Holyhead Harpies which she had plastered on the wall.

"Little girls don't fly," was all she had heard, but the all-women team was her inspiration. It was her dream to join when she grew up. She stared dreamily at the poster, imagining her grown up figure grinning out of it with a broomstick on her shoulder.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. There was nobody in the house except mum and Ron, and she was sure that mum was busy in the kitchen preparing the Sunday meal, and Ron was most likely snoring in his room. It would be the perfect time, and no one would know...

Her eyes gleaming with the same mischievous light that was often seen in the eyes of Fred and George, she noiselessly crept downstairs and slipped out into the backyard. She hurried over to the shabby old broom cupboard in the corner. The door opened with a creak under her small but firm grip. Her eyes shone as a big smile made its way up her lips. They were just there. Oh, wow. Perfect!

She eyed the identical Shooting Stars belonging to the twins. Which one should she take?

She picked the left one. A broad grin lit up her face. What a wonderful thing this was! The smooth wooden handle, the twigs, sticking out here and there a little, and the name of the broom written in pretty lettering — it was only a Shooting Star, but to Ginny, it was the best broom in the world. Most girls of her age were unaware of how to ride a broom. But Quidditch through Ages being her favourite book and watching her brothers fly her favourite hobby, she had a pretty good idea what to do. Placing the broom on the ground by her side, she shouted, "Up!" in the most confident tone she could muster, and then cringed at her loudness. Hopefully mother wouldn't hear her. To her utter delight, the Shooting Star shot up into her hand, at a perfect height for her to mount.

 _Swing your leg to the side, straddle and so mount the broom_.

Ginny followed the instruction generated by her head (memorized from the time her father had been giving flying lessons to her brothers), and gripped the handle tightly with her small hands. And forcing all her strength into her legs, kicked off.

 _Here goes._

The broom shot into the air with such abruptness that Ginny almost screamed. Suddenly thrust into the air, she found that she could hardly control the broom. A terrified squeal escaped her lips as her body leant too far into the right, and after one... two... three seconds of slipping, slowly slipping off the wooden surface, she crashed to the ground.

"Ouch!"

Thankfully, she had barely risen five feet above the ground, and so didn't get hurt badly. But her right ankle had twisted into an awkward position beneath her body, and a gasp of pain left her as she tried to stand up. But her determination did not reduce. She glared at the Shooting Star hovering lazily above the ground.

 _So you won't let me ride you, you silly broom? You just wait; I_ will _ride you. I_ will _fly_.

Limping slightly, she made her way over to the broom, and swung her legs over it for the second time. Her right ankle hurting too much for her to use it for a kick-off, she pushed her weight on her good left leg instead. And once again, she shot up into the air.

This time, things were easier. Ginny was prepared for the broom's jerky movements, and took care to ensure that her body remained properly upright. Using her hands gripping the wood to carefully steer the broom, she soon found herself zooming all around the back garden.

A joyful whoop burst out from her lips. She was flying, she was actually flying! The wind blowing gently across her hair felt so good, and although she was merely a few feet in the air, the simple feeling of her legs swinging away, not needing the ground to move gave her an exquisite sensation of freedom. The Shooting Star would be easily outrun by Scabbers (which was saying something as the rat was so lazy), but Ginny felt as if she was on the fastest model. She never wanted to get down from it.

She did get down and return to her room, anyway, after an hour or so, during which she had done several rounds of the garden, fallen down four times (once while trying to grab a gnome she had spotted in the grass) and over all, had a thoroughly enjoyable time. Sure, she would have to do some deep thinking to make up a lie for her hurt ankle and how the top branches of the crap apple tree were broken and on the ground all of a sudden (she had lost control of the broom while trying to pick up speed and crashed straight into the tree), but it could be managed. A broad, contented grin stretched on Ginny's face as she dropped down to her bed.

She was so doing it again.

-o0o-

Years later, Ginevra Weasley, star chaser of the Holyhead Harpies found herself being carried on the shoulders of her team as she scored the winning goal and led the team to become the champions of the Tournament once again, no one attributed her big grin and the mischievous and yet nostalgic sparkle in her eyes to the old memory that was crossing her mind.

The six years old girl who would break into the broom shed every other day and take her brothers' brooms to fly had grown up; she had grown up to reach much greater heights.


	4. Between the Lines

**Written for** **The Forbidden Relationship Competition by AlwaysPadfoot.**

 **Level: Superhard**

 **Pairing: Ginny/Hannah**

 **Section:** **B (The House Boundary Divide)**

 **Words: 5281**

* * *

 **Between the Lines**

The door to the headmaster's office opened none too quietly, startling Fawkes the phoenix, roosting on his perch, into uttering a loud squawk. Albus Dumbledore looked up from his work as his visitors entered in a wave of rich purple and painful pink.

"Cornelius. Dolores." His electric blue eyes analysed them gravely over his half-moon spectacles. "Please take a seat."

In his purple cloak, Cornelius Fudge looked as unsure and blustering in front of the old headmaster as always. Dolores Umbridge's eyes, on the other hand, scanned every corner of the room coldly.

"Professor." She sent a simpering smile in his direction.

"What can I offer you? Tea? Milk? Pumpkin juice? Mead?" With each word, Dumbledore conjured two glasses of the said drink.

"Nothing, thank you," Fudge said stiffly, while Umbridge opted for the tea. For some time, there was a tense silence, during which the portraits of the late headmasters eyed the two visitors warily. Dumbledore, however, appeared unperturbed as he waited for the two to speak. After finishing her tea, Umbridge cleared her throat.

"Not to beat about the bush, we had – certain concerns about how this school is being run, Professor," she said.

"Oh?" Dumbledore looked at her keenly. "I was not aware that anyone had any complaints, Dolores."

"This is about the business of the petrifications some months ago, Albus," Fudge said. "The house system is clearly not fit in the way it is."

Dumbledore's expression hardened. "I fail to see how the two are connected."

"We heard from Lucius how the Gryffindor girl had the diary from which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was operating. The Heir of Slytherin working through a Gryffindor! Some Slytherin student must have passed it to her."

"Firstly, you assume incorrectly," Dumbledore said coldly. "Second, I still do not see where you wish to go with this."

"Don't you see Albus? This interaction between houses must be stopped. It is because they interact that they developed problems, enmities! Separate the houses, and it is done!"

"What Lucius did not tell you that it was he himself who slipped the diary among the girl's belongings. It was not because of animosity between two houses, it was because of rivalries in the office! The student body has nothing to do with it," Dumbledore said, fury radiating off him in waves.

"It doesn't matter!" Fudge snapped, wiping a line of sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "If anything, this should be reason enough to separate the four houses, to prevent any future inter-house enmity."

The headmaster ran a tired hand through his beard. "This is absurd," he said. "You are a fool, Cornelius, if you imagine that this measure will help lower inter-house animosity."

"Well, too bad you can't do anything about it, Professor," Umbridge said in a sickly-sweet voice. She pulled out a formal-looking scroll with the Ministry's seal on it. "I am afraid this petition has been signed by every single governor of Hogwarts, as well as several eminent members of the Ministry."

-o0o-

"The same old things news apart, I have an announcement to make." The sudden change in Dumbledore's tone from playful to grim attracted everyone's attention. "As decreed by the Ministry, interaction between the houses has to be minimised. Inter-house competitions such as Quidditch will be continued normally, but other clubs and gatherings must reorganise themselves according to houses. Classes and Hogsmeade visits will be accordingly scheduled, separately for each house. I am afraid that teachers and prefects are instructed to deduct points on discovering intimate relationships between students of different houses."

An immediate and absolute silence fell in the Great Hall, before the mutterings started like wildfire. All around her, Ginny Weasley saw various reactions – the Slytherins looked mostly smug; Draco Malfoy mouthed something to Pansy which reduced her to hysterics. Beside her, Percy's face fell; his eyes moved towards the Ravenclaw table, where Ginny knew his girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater sat.

"Does that mean we are not allowed to prank the other houses too?" Fred asked George.

"Well, on the good side, we won't be seeing Malfoy's face a lot," Ron, sitting on Ginny's other side, said with a laugh.

"But why would they do this? Separating the houses even further… how does that even work?" asked Harry.

"Can't you guess, Harry?" Hermione said in hushed tones; Ginny had to lean a little to catch what she was saying. "It must be about the Chamber."

"The Chamber of Secrets? What about it?" Ron said loudly, before being hurriedly shushed by Hermione.

"It caused mass panic in Hogwarts, Ron. Thankfully, the media didn't get a clue on it, or Hogwarts could be in serious trouble. But after Lucius Malfoy's sacking, people must have looked more into it, and the students went home and told their parents about it. The Heir of _Slytherin_ , the students of other houses being attacked, and if someone had found out that Riddle was operating through _Ginny_ , you see how it looks."

"But this is absurd!" Harry protested. "It's utterly pointless! Wasn't the whole point of having houses was to promote interaction between the different types of students?"

"One can counter it by saying that segregation was the purpose behind the creation of houses," Hermione replied dejectedly.

Harry was still arguing, talking about how it was as bad as discriminating on the basis of blood-status, but Ginny wasn't listening anymore. All she could think about was how this rule had started because of the Chamber of Secrets, because she had written in the stupid diary, because she had let herself be lured by Tom. Percy lost his girlfriend because of _her_.

 _This is my fault._

-o0o-

The day was sunny, but Ginny felt so cold, sitting alone. They had a double break before Transfiguration, but she couldn't bring herself to spend time with her classmates. Not once since last night had she been able to look Percy in the eye. Look anyone in the eye, for that matter. Every second since the rule had been passed, there was only one thought in her head – _It's my fault._

Ginny felt like she was sinking, slowly, and even more badly than last year.

"Hey." Ginny looked up to see a curtain of dirty-blonde hair surrounding a kind face. The person peered down at her for a few seconds before easing herself onto the ground beside Ginny. It was Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff in Ron's year.

"You are Ginny, aren't you?" Hanna asked. "Ginny Weasley."

"Yes," Ginny nodded with some surprise. "Didn't think you'd know me."

"Of course I know you," Hannah said with a small laugh. It was a sweet sound. "I had been visiting Professor Sprout about changing the schedule for my Divination classes, and you looked so sad, I came over. What's wrong, Ginny?"

Ginny sighed, looking away. How could she say it? "I – I can't tell you."

"Why not?" Ginny kept looking at the ground, and suddenly found cool fingers gently but firmly holding her chin and tipping her face upwards. "Ginny," Hannah's eyes were wide and concerned, her lips curving downwards, "What happened? Tell me, please. Maybe I can help. I won't tell anyone."

Ginny did not know what it was about the older girl – maybe the soft contours of her face, or her brown eyes which had something so compelling about them, or how she looked so genuinely concerned – that convinced Ginny to tell her what no one had bothered to ask her. Ron was simply too oblivious, Hermione was too busy and not so close to her, and Harry (and how she wished he would notice her and ask her, even once, if she was okay) and she never really talked properly. He had been very bothered about something this year. Ginny was a sort of tomboy, and did not go too well with the girls of her year. And now interacting with students of other houses was not an option, really – thanks to this new law – thanks to her. Perhaps she was desperate to confide in someone, to relieve herself of the pressure that was crushing her around the ribs.

"I – I think it's my fault," Ginny blurted out. Hannah frowned.

"Your fault? What is?"

"This – this new law."

"But this is the authority's decision. How can it be your fault?"

"Last year," Ginny whispered, her voice unsteady. Suddenly, she felt more broken than ever. "The Chamber of Secrets."

Hannah shrank a little. "What about it?" she faltered. "You nearly died there. Whatever – whoever it was, nearly killed you."

"Yes," Ginny fisted some grass from the ground. "You – you don't understand. It was me there."

Hannah involuntarily shifted a little away from Ginny. "What do you mean, it was you?" Her voice was shrill.

"I c-can't explain properly." Ginny felt tears burn at the corners of her eyes; she felt as vulnerable and terrified as she had last year, as every nightmarish memory came rushing back to her. "You Know Who was behind all that, but he – he was using me. He made me – I caused all those muggleborns to be petrified. The M-ministry knows some of this, and so they think that people from other houses shouldn't interact."

There was a long silence. Ginny looked very pointedly at the ground.

"T-the rule," she heard Hannah stutter. "We shouldn't be talking in the first place. I – I should go." She heard her shifting. Ginny did nothing to stop her. The footsteps shifted beside her, and then walked away. Ginny bit her lip to keep herself from sobbing as the tears flowed. She did not know why it hurt so bad; she should have expected nothing else. But it did.

Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps returning, and before Ginny could look up, she was being wrapped in a tight hug. The sweet smell of mild jasmine invaded her senses.

"I'm so sorry." Hannah's voice was unsteady, her breath hot in Ginny's ears. "I shouldn't have left like that; it was so mean." Hannah pulled away, crouching beside a still stunned Ginny.

"It's not your fault, Ginny," she said soothingly, but firmly. "You didn't do anything. It was You Know Who, and we know that even strong men have fallen before him. None of this is your fault."

"I –" Ginny did not know what to say. She managed a smile. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," Hannah smiled back. "For trusting me. I'm Hannah by the way; I just forgot to introduce myself."

This drew a proper laugh from Ginny. "I know."

"You do?" Hannah looked surprised, but then joined in Ginny's laughter. Her hand slipped into Ginny's. "I like you, Ginny."

Ginny grinned. "I like you too." Hannah had her hand still in Ginny's; it was soft and warm.

"I think we will be good friends." A rebellious brilliance came to Hannah's soft brown eyes. "And I am not letting some stupid rule get in the way."

Ginny only smiled and smiled; she couldn't help think how nice Hannah's comforting hand was in hers.

-o0o-

The Great Hall was crowded with students. As Ginny clutched her blankets to her chest, looking for a place to sleep among the sheer number of students making their place on the floor, she was suddenly met with a pair of arms wrapping around her torso.

"I was so worried," Hannah said breathlessly. "Ernie just told me what happened. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Ginny assured her. "Nothing happened to any of us, in fact. Just the Fat Lady getting slashed."

"It was Sirius Black, wasn't he?" Hannah's voice was so shrill Ginny had to hurriedly shush her. "That's why they are conducting a search! I _knew_ it! But they won't find him that way, of course; _I_ know that Black can turn himself into a potted plant! They should look around in the greenhouses."

The suggestion was so ridiculous that Ginny could not hold back a snort. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You don't believe me either, do you?" Hannah frowned. "No one does. But you'll see, you'll see I was right when –"

"Okay, I think we should just find a place to sleep now." Ginny hurriedly cut her off. "They have asked each house to occupy a particular corner of the Hall."

"You won't come with me?" Hannah's face fell. "I – well I –"

"But the rule –"

"Oh, come on, we are friends already, aren't we?" Hannah scoffed. "Who cares for that rule? I am sure many others are breaking it secretly. Just come away already, won't you? I asked Justin to save two places."

Ginny looked a little unsurely at the crowd of Gryffindors near her; Harry would be near Hermione and Ron, there was no one who wanted her. Besides, there was no greater thrill than that of rule-breaking, right? She nodded, and gathering her things, followed Hannah into the crowd of Hufflepuffs. Thankfully, everyone was already asleep, and nobody noticed her. Ginny covered herself till neck with her blanket to avoid detection from passing teachers.

The moonlight bathed them as the two girls lay, face to face, and Ginny couldn't help think how bright Hannah's eyes looked in the faint light, and how pretty the slight swell of her parted lips was.

"Tell me what you like to do," Hannah said suddenly, making Ginny blink out of her reverie.

"Huh?" She shook her head slightly.

"Tell me about yourself. I want to know you."

So Ginny spoke about her hobbies and her family and her life in Gryffindor, and in return, Hannah told about herself, and they never noticed when their eyes closed in the midst of all the talk.

-o0o-

"You going to the Yule Ball tomorrow?" Hannah asked lazily as the two of them basked in the light of the dying sun, on the shore of the Lake. Over the course of these years, Ginny had found a true friend in Hannah, and they had managed to keep their friendship a secret from everyone. They talked after hours or between classes, either in secluded places or in spaces so crowded that no one would notice them. They sent owls to each other without signing off; it was an effective way. Ginny thoroughly enjoyed it.

"Yes, Neville asked me," Ginny replied. "Are you?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Ernie needed a partner. I think Eric is more handsome though. I was hoping he'd ask, but Ernie got there first."

"Yes," Ginny hummed. "I know that feeling." She had felt bad saying no to Harry when he asked at the last moment, but not as bad as she might have felt any other time. She was growing up.

"Ginny?"

"Yes?"

"Would you – would you consider dating someone from other houses?"

Ginny looked at Hannah, frowning a little. "Why do you ask?"

Hannah's cheeks turned unexpectedly pink. "I – well – no –" she spluttered. "Since you are already mixing with people from other houses – I was curious."

"First, it's not that I am, and I quote, 'mixing with people from other houses', it's only you. And I don't think relationships are worth the risk. I mean, we have plenty of dateable boys in Gryffindor." She pushed away the image of bright green eyes behind round glasses. "So my answer is, no."

"Oh." Hannah seemed to deflate a little. Ginny looked at her curiously, wondering if she should say something, but eventually settled for letting the silence be as the sun set.

-o0o-

Ginny's back crashed against the back of the broom closet, the brooms and buckets making a loud clattering noise.

"Mmm, be gentle, Mich – ohh." Her chastising dissolved into a moan as Michael Corner focused his attention and his mouth on her neck.

"We are too loud, someone might hear us," Ginny managed to say, regaining coherence.

"It's fine, baby. Stop caring for a second." Michael, swiped his tongue on Ginny's neck and sucked on her pale skin, making her promptly lose the train of thought.

She and Michael had started seeing each other a few months ago. Last year's Yule Ball had given Ginny an epiphany; after having Neville ask her to the Ball and Harry doing it only when it was too late and simply because he found no other girls, Ginny had lost all hopes of dating him. She began seeing other boys, mainly to distract herself and to get herself to talk to Harry without getting nervous. Her choice of boys was largely from other houses; the secrecy necessary was a lovely shot of adrenaline into the relationship.

Michael's hands were now running up her dress and Ginny was feeling delirious from all the desire and the heat in this cramped space, when the door of the broom closet flew open with a huge creak. Ginny found herself looking into the eyes of the person she wanted to see the least at the moment.

Hannah Abbott's face was a kaleidoscope, her expression changing from shock to dismay to faint disgust to anger and Merlin knows what. Ginny felt herself shrink away from her as she and Michael stared at the now prefect, looking like deer in the headlights.

"I – c-can't believe this," Hannah muttered, and shook her head. She looked angrier than Ginny had ever seen her before, and somehow vulnerable. Then her expression turned icy. "Twenty points each from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for having an intimate relationship despite being in separate houses," she snapped. "Also, ten points from each for staying out after hours."

And with that, she stalked off.

For seconds, Ginny was frozen, still in Michael's arms. Then, ignoring her boyfriend's calls, she sprinted after the Hufflepuff prefect. `

"Hannah!" she called. "Hannah, wait!"

She had to run a fair distance before Hannah acquiesced.

"What?" she snapped. Ginny took a step back.

"T-that was uncalled for," she said.

"What was?" Hannah retorted. "You were breaking a rule, Ginny. It is my duty to take appropriate action."

"What's wrong with you?" Ginny cried, her temper rising. "I thought you were on my side here. We are friends by defying this rule. What is your problem if I date boys from other houses?"

"My problem –?" Hannah's voice rose sharply, then dissolved into a string of inaudible mutterings. She turned away from Ginny and started walking. Then she stopped short and whirled around.

"I never believed it," she screamed, and Ginny could see her lips trembling. "They told me how you were seeing Ravenclaws, even Hufflepuffs, but I never believed them because I trusted you! You told me you'd never date people from other houses, Ginny!"

Somehow, Hannah's words hit Ginny like a slap to the face. "So – so what if I changed my mind? Why does it bother you so much?"

"Because I love you!" Hannah screamed the words out, and then silence fell in the long corridor. Her voice seemed to echo off the corners.

"What?" Ginny whispered. Hannah's eyes were dripping tears. She hurriedly wiped her face with her sleeve.

"You heard me the first time," she whispered, and suddenly Ginny noticed how close they were; hardly six inches separated them. When had Hannah moved? "Don't pretend," Hannah continued in a whisper. "I." Her eyes were swimming with tears, like pools of chocolate. "Love." How had she never noticed the slightest smattering of freckles on her pale skin? "You." The torchlight bounced off her dirty-blonde hair, turning it golden.

"I – I –" Ginny stuttered, not knowing what to say. Then suddenly, Hannah's lips were on hers, and all Ginny could think was how soft they were, so much softer than any other set she had known before, gliding gently against hers, and she could not help herself from moving her lips in sync with hers. Hannah's hand reached up, gripping Ginny's hair, gently pulling her even closer. Her other hand gripped Ginny's fingers, her thumb softly caressing her palm. Ginny let out a soft sigh, submitting to her as Hannah's tongue dipped tentatively into her mouth.

Suddenly, a cat yowled somewhere close, and the noise snapped Ginny back to reality. She pulled away from Hannah with a gasp.

"I – I'm sorry, I can't do this," she said.

"Why?" The look on Hannah's face was heart-breaking. "What's wrong with this? After everything you have done? What's wrong with _me_?"

Ginny only shook her head. The corners of her eyes were burning. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, and freeing her hand from Hannah's, ran, not looking back.

-o0o-

Ginny felt lonely these days. Ever since that evening, she and Hannah had stopped interacting; the other girl had given her no opportunity to set things right. Hannah avoided Ginny at every situation, and seeing as the ban on inter-house interaction was still on, opportunities for them to talk were scarce in the first place. Even during the Dumbledore's Army sessions last year, Hannah ensured that the two of them never interacted.

Ginny's joining the Quidditch team had kept her somewhat busy, and she had started dating Dean after the episode with Michael. She was now a closer friend to Hermione, who was a good person, but not having Hannah in her life, things just weren't the same. Hannah was different. She _needed_ Hannah, in ways she hadn't even fathomed.

She was loitering around the broom shed wondering if she should do some practice flying outside the regular schedule, when a body barrelled into her. The familiar comforting smell of jasmine penetrated her, and suddenly, Ginny was home.

By the time she opened her eyes, Hannah was already stepping back.

"That was inappropriate, sorry," she said in a brittle voice, and Ginny noticed how her eyes were bloodshot as if she had spent a long time crying, and everything about her was an uncharacteristic mess. She looked stoic for a second, but then Hannah's façade crumbled. "But I don't care, oh, I –" And she broke down in tears.

Without conscious thought, Ginny found herself hugging the older girl.

"Hannah, Hannah," she said worriedly, "What happened?"

"My – My mum died. T-they killed her." Hannah hiccupped. The words hit Ginny like a hurtling storm.

"Oh Merlin, I am so sorry!" Ginny held Hannah as she sank to the floor, taking her down as well. For a long time, the only sound was that of Hannah sobbing as Ginny kept her arms round her, not knowing what to say.

"I'm leaving," Hannah mumbled after her tears had subsided. Ginny's right leg was asleep by that time.

"Huh?" Ginny blinked.

"Dad wrote to me, McGonagall gave me the letter when she told the news about Mum." Hannah sniffed. "He wants me to leave Hogwarts. He is coming to take me tomorrow."

"What?" Ginny yelped, pulling back. "But Hogwarts is the safest place in the country!"

"I know," The tears were back in Hannah's eyes. "But he doesn't understand."

"I – I don't know what to say." Ginny looked down, her emotions suddenly caught up by storm. She had not been prepared for anything like this. "I – what can I do to make you stay?"

But Hannah only shook her head, making Ginny's heart break further and further. The patch of dust on the ground that her gaze found suddenly seemed the happiest thing around.

"Stay with me. Please." Ginny's gaze snapped up at Hannah's plea.

"What?"

"I know I haven't acted well all this time – but – but I still care about you. Stay with me today, I beg of you."

"Where should we go?"

"You tell me."

They chose the Room of Requirement as their recluse. It conjured a big bed for them, and the two girls held each other close.

"I never got to tell you – I care for you too," Ginny said hesitatingly. Hannah's face reflected blank shock for a few second, before being replaced by delight.

"I – really?"

Ginny nodded with a smile. "Really."

And then Hannah's lips were on hers again, and the kiss was feverish, desperate, salvaging the last few moments they had together. The passion rose, their hands roamed, and Ginny soared in the storm of emotions and sensations that had caught her up.

"I love you," she gasped, her vision tinged with red as she kissed Hannah with feverish devotion, their tongues battling each other for dominance. "I love you."

The look on Hannah's face was of pure joy. "I love you too," she replied, planting a tender kiss on Ginny's forehead.

Neither acknowledged that it was their first and last night together.

-o0o-

 _Dear Ginny,_

 _I'll keep this short, since I sent you a letter only five days ago. But I just couldn't keep myself from wishing you the best for the Quidditch finals. I know how important this is for you. I know how unfaithful to my house I sound saying this (but we both know it's only for you), but I hope you win. Play well, and for Merlin's sake, try not to get hurt! Turn Ravenclaw to dust!_

 _We are staying at Gran's this week, in Wales. This constant moving makes me sick, but Dad has been paranoid ever since Mum was killed, so he'll have it no other way. The only good thing in this is that Gran's pancakes are delicious, so much better than Aunt Julia's inedible pot pies. Last week was so bad, I thought I'd just give up eating for life._

 _Anyway, tell me how the match went. I wish I could be there to watch it. And even more, to give you a celebratory kiss, among other things._

 _Stay safe. Write soon,_

 _Lovingly yours,_

 _Hannah._

The Gyffindor common room was erupting with celebration; bottles of firewhiskey and butterbeer were being passed around, and everyone was shouting, jumping and dancing. But alone in a corner, Ginny's hands were shaking ever so slightly as she read Hannah's letter. She did not know what was making her so emotional, but as she quietly folded the piece of parchment and slipped it back into her robes, she couldn't stop the longing to see the girl she loved. The letter had come in the morning post, but Ginny was too nervous about the match to read it properly. Now, reading it again, her heart ached even as all around her, her housemates shouted in jubilation.

Ginny looked up at the noise suddenly rising to a peak, and suddenly knew who it was. All in a moment, she felt a surge of emotions for the boy she had once loved, a rising anger for him not being there to save a match; his absence had cost her a solid hit of a bludger to the arm. Tearing through the crowd, she went ahead just as Harry's face appeared at the portrait hole.

They were close now, almost face to face. "We won, Harry! We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty!" Ron was yelling. And all of a sudden, his arms were around her, and the dream that Ginny had all those years ago was coming true, and a deadly silence had fallen around them, and Ginny had stopped thinking.

 _To give you a celebratory kiss, among other things._

Ginny's heart screamed. She let Harry kiss her.

-o0o-

All she could think as she sat in the Room of Requirement was how good it was to be back at Hogwarts. Almost all the members of the Dumbledore's Army were there, and like the time back in her fourth year when Harry had tutored them, no one was following the rule banning inter-house interaction. Harry was looking at her with dismay, and Ginny guessed he didn't want her fighting (he still cared about her, despite her ending things between them only after a month or so – she just couldn't lie to herself into settling for a once-dream any longer). But when Cho offered to take Harry to the Ravenclaw tower, she couldn't help interrupting:

"No, Luna will take Harry. Won't you, Luna?"

She may have her love for a person other than Harry, but that didn't mean that she couldn't hate Cho.

Once the two were gone, the others started pestering Ron and Hermione for the details of their adventure. But Ginny didn't feel listening to her brother's animated description of how Hermione had pretended to be Bellatrix, and sat dejectedly in her armchair, until the hole leading to the Hog's Head opened again.

Ginny was left staring.

Hannah was climbing out of the hole, shaking her long hair free of sleet and tangles. She looked rougher and more tried than how she had looked before; there was a scar near her chin, but her eyes were still the brilliant liquid chocolate. Ginny had never seen anyone look more beautiful.

"Heard there was a fight coming," she said, smiling, her eyes roaming. "I couldn't let my father hold me back anymore."

Out of the corner of her eyes, Ginny saw Neville's cheeks turn pink, but then Hannah's eyes found hers, and Ginny forgot everything else. Before they knew it, the two girls were moving towards each other. Their hands met, then their lips.

It was easy to forget that they were in the middle of a crowded room, that this shouldn't have happened in the first place. For a few moments, Ginny was in that corridor with prefect Hannah, in the bed driven by unnamed emotions. But when they pulled away, the entire room was silent, and everyone was staring. Ron's jaw was hanging, Neville looked like he had been slapped. Even Hermione looked shell-shocked.

"They are staring," Ginny whispered.

Hannah looked nervous for a moment, but then a smile crept across her face. "Like I care," she whispered back, and stole a kiss on Ginny's cheek, taking her by surprise. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too," Ginny smiled back. "You shouldn't have come," she added despite herself.

"Nuh, uh," Hannah smirked. "I'd had enough protection."

"We will talk a lot after the war, okay?" Ginny said fiercely. "You're not running away again." She meant it in every possible way.

Hannah smiled, but there was worry in her eyes. "After the war." She nodded.

-o0o-

Ginny sat at the Gryffindor table at the welcoming feast, staring at the cracked glass on one of the windows. They had mostly recovered Hogwarts, but it was not the same. There was a lot of damage still to be fixed, and much which was impossible to. After Voldemort's fall in May, the staff had only had months to bring the school into a manageable state, so that the classes could resume in September. Those who had not been able to sit for their NEWTs and were still interested, had got into Ginny's year to complete their studies. Two seats away, Ginny saw Hermione stare at the enchanted ceiling with a fond smile.

A pair of hands covered her eyes. Ginny managed to free herself, only to get lost in the smiling brown eyes.

"Hi," Hannah smiled bashfully as she perched temporarily at her side.

"Hi!" Ginny found herself smiling broadly. "I wasn't sure if you'd come."

"How could I not? I have my education to finish. I'm hoping to apply as a healer after that. Though McGonagall says I'll have to work extra hard to manage my half-done sixth year." An adorable crease came over Hannah's brow.

"It's the same for me," Ginny said. "You'll do fine."

"I suppose." Hannah nodded. "But you know what the best thing is?" Her face split into a brilliant smile. Ginny couldn't help smile back.

Hannah leant in. "I have you for a whole year," she whispered. "And nothing is forbidden anymore."

Ginny laughed, kissing her quickly. "You have me for as long as you want."

The Great Hall was lit by thousands of candles. But to Ginny, there was nothing as brilliant as Hannah's smile at that moment.

-The End-


End file.
